


It was just how you looked in the light

by Dad



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, M/M, Masturbation, Oral, Sexual Tension, Tour Bus, Touring, blowjob
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-25
Updated: 2014-03-25
Packaged: 2018-01-16 10:01:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1343407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dad/pseuds/Dad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This had never happened to Pete before. He could have put it down to excitement, or the fact that he hadn't been able to jerk off at all in the week since they’d been on this tour, but if he was being honest – it was probably just the way Patrick looked tonight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It was just how you looked in the light

**Author's Note:**

> Hello friends! This is like the first fanfiction I have ever posted anywhere so please let me know if it's okay. Thank you, enjoy.  
> \- EDIT -  
> hi pals i've been thinking about writing a follow up to this since it was so well-received! please comment if you'd like to read some more and i'll see what i can do!

This had never happened to Pete before. He could have put it down to excitement, or the fact that he hadn't been able to jerk off at all in the week since they’d been on this tour, but if he was being honest – it was probably just the way Patrick looked tonight. It had started like any other show – balaclavas, black balloons, and the flag – but they were halfway through  _Dance, Dance_ , and Pete was thanking his lucky stars for his conveniently placed bass. He wasn't quite sure how it had happened – he'd looked over to Patrick during _Sugar_ , just as the vocalist was rolling his hips against his guitar , and had found himself unable to look away. The way Patrick appeared to be rutting up into the white electric, while his hands hung off of the microphone stand – Pete had suddenly been hit with a wave of  _very_  inappropriate thoughts of his own hips against Patrick’s, moving like  _that_. Soft, pale flesh against darker, inked skin. And Patrick’s voice, gloriously whispering Pete’s name. Fuck.

He'd been hard as fucking rock after that.

He would have to process this later. For now, he continued to jump around, keeping his bass low and close. Their set was nearly through; just one more song, and then the encore. Pete flung himself around the stage, praying that the exercise might convince the blood to move out of his dick and off to somewhere else. It didn't, it just made the back of his neck sweatier. They finished up, and the lights dropped. The crowd was still screaming as they filtered out to side-stage, patting each others backs and laughing. Pete kept his eyes low; he was the first off, being closest the the stage exit. He heard heavy breathing behind him and turned to see Patrick jogging up to him, closely followed by Joe  - God, was he always this affectionate? He had slung his arm across Pete’s shoulder, and was beaming at him. Pete had never been fonder of his instrument, which was still concealing the slight problem in his pants.  
“Good job bud – how are you?” Patrick queried, still leaning on Pete, whose mouth had suddenly gone very dry. He could hear the crowd chanting – Patrick would have to get off of him soon so they could go on for their encore.  
“Oh, yeah - great!” He managed, earning a nod and a blinding smile from Patrick, before he released Pete and turned to praise Joe.

 After the set Pete had gotten himself off guiltily in a deserted bathroom, leant against the door, his hand moving furiously on his dick. He thought about Patrick’s pale arms, and about his thighs, which didn't see nearly as much sun, and must be even paler. The way the sweat had made the hair at the back of his neck curl deliciously. Pete came in his hand seconds later, bashing his head against the door, eyes screwed shut, and a tightly curled fist stuffed into his mouth. He slumped, sliding to the floor. He'd kind of hoped that this was a one-off thing, that it would be over after he jerked off and got it out of his system.  _No more creepy thoughts about Patrick now._ He willed himself as he cleaned up with a wad of paper towel. He watched it swirl around the toilet bowl before sighing and washing his hands.

 

                                                                                                               ---

 

It had been over a week now, and the creepy thoughts had kept coming. Pete had been finding empty stalls every show night and it was getting ridiculous. He had just finished up in some grim, dimly lit bathroom in the midwest that was a hideous shade of green and was washing his hands in the basin. He looked in the mirror; he had no idea how much longer he could do this for - it was exhausting. Maybe there was some drug that could turn you into a saint and make you abstain from inappropriate thoughts. Maybe that's how saints did it - drugs. He shook his head in the mirror, then skulked off to find his band.  

They were lounging in a green room somewhere - Pete had only found it by following the sounds of laughter and conversation. Pete and Andy were engaged in a very animated conversation, and Joe was fixing a drink with his tech on the other side of the room. He noticed Pete first, and motioned him over eagerly.   
"Hey. Where'd you go?" He asked, raising an eyebrow sceptically. Pete swallowed, then smiled widely, reaching out to grab a drink from the side. Joe smelled clean, and his hair seemed to have just been washed. Pete was suddenly aware of how gross and sweaty he was.  
"Wouldn't you like to know?" He laughed, brushing the question off as he patted Joe's shoulder roughly and left him to talk with his tech. The green room was large, comfortably furnished, but lit by grim fluorescent strip lights - the least complementary lighting possible, and a pet hate of Pete's. He wandered lazily over to Andy and Patrick, flicking the tab on his can. He settled down lightly next to Andy on the sofa and tried not to make himself too obvious. Andy smiled absent-mindedly at him, his eyebrows rising. His hair was damp, he must have just showered, like Joe.   
"Hey Pete, did you shower yet? I was going to go get one on the bus - you wanna come with?" Patrick smiled warmly and stood up, repositioning his hat. Pete  _really_ wanted to go; he was sticky and smelly and he could really do with a hot shower. But his mind was already running wild, one big blur of  _Patrickshowershowerpatricktogethershoweralonepatrick._  He nodded, not trusting himself to say anything remotely intelligent, and stood up, planting a hand on Andy's shoulder and giving it a pat before he followed Patrick, who was already halfway out the door.

Patrick made light conversation on the walk to the bus, but Pete could only nod dumbly, trying desperately to think about his grandma and keep Patrick out of his head. It worked mostly, and they got to the bus with minimal embarrassment on Pete's part. Inside was empty and warm, and Pete flopped down on the nearest seat instantly, tipping his head back and shutting his eyes. He was so strung-out. He didn't even know what had happened in the past week - it was just one big blur of shameful arousal. It wasn't like he'd never had fantasies about people before, but this was different. There's just something  _wrong_  about wanting to debauche your best friend.  _Best friend._ Pete cringed. There had to be some law about this - once your masturbate to the thought of your best friend, you get your best friend badge removed. It wasn't his fault! Perhaps you could only feel so much brotherly fondness towards someone until you wanted to see them naked. Pete  _really_ wanted to see Patrick naked - shit, he was thinking about Patrick naked again. How did this keep happening? 

"You wanna shower first?" Patrick asked, rifling through a large holdall of towels and tossing one on Pete's lap, whose eyes snapped open. Patrick turned, threw his own towel over his shoulder, and lifted his foot onto the row of seats opposite Pete, fiddling with his shoe.  
"Nah, you go ahead. I'm gonna relax a little." Pete just managed to choke out before his throat closed over. The angle of Patrick's leg had stretched the material of his jeans snugly over the curve of his ass and Pete flushed a very bright shade of red that practically screamed  _I jerk off to images of my best friend_. He briefly wondered whether these sorts of things were regular occurrences that Pete had failed to notice until now. He concluded that this was the worst thing that had ever happened to him and tried to look away nonchalantly as Patrick turned back around to him.   
"Thanks, dude. I won't be long." He smiled and walked away.

Pete heard the water come on and sighed. He should probably find some clothes that didn't smell like a week-old foot. He heaved himself up and trudged towards his bunk, collapsing onto the soft mattress. His eyes fluttered closed and he could hear the faint sound of Patrick humming in the shower. He imagined him glistening under the water, hair stuck messily to his forehead, eyes shut and face turned up towards the spray. His hand was creeping lower and lower down his belly, towards his belt buckle. He contemplated not jerking off until he was in the shower for around two seconds, before he flicked open his belt and popped his fly. He didn't usually do this  - the shower was always the best option for getting yourself off for a number of reasons, mainly convenience. It was an unspoken thing, really. Shower time is jerk-off time. It was why they often played music on the bus whenever someone was showering - privacy was hard to come by and all of the walls were paper-thin. Pete almost got up and put some music on for Patrick's comfort, but decided guiltily that this may be his only chance to hear Patrick pleasure himself. He rubbed the growing bulge in his underwear lazily, keeping an ear out and feeling like a terrible person.

Pete was supremely disappointed; Patrick had remained silent, save for some gentle humming, and so Pete had retreated into his head. He was too far gone to wait until he was in the shower now anyway, he thought as he shucked his jeans down to mid thigh, allowing his cock to bob up and rest heavily on his belly. He sat up quickly and removed his shirt in one motion, throwing it down to his feet, and then lying back down. He spit on his right hand and reached down to jack himself slowly. His other hand rested behind his head. He couldn't even remember what he'd jerked off to before now; all he could see was Patrick. Patrick on his knees with eyes half closed, face turned up to look at Pete, mouth red and shiny, a trail of spit down his chin. It was fucking  _obscene._ Pete shut his eyes, running his thumb over the head of his cock roughly, calloused fingers sending a shot up his spine and making his belly tense. He was breathing heavily now, low groans escaping now and then.   
"Fuck - Trick..." Pete whined far louder than he intended, then opened his eyes, hand stilling on his cock. That was entirely too loud. Loud enough for someone else to hear. He listened out for the sound of water. The shower was off.  _Shitshitshitshit._ Pete held his breath, straining to hear any sound of Patrick. He could still hear breathing -  _fuck,_ that was definitely not him. If Patrick had heard him moaning his name, he didn't know if he'd be able to continue living. He'd have to leave the band, become a social outcast for the rest of forever. Taking a breath, he cautiously peeled back the curtain of his bunk so he could see out. He wasn't alone.

        

Patrick was standing on the other side, mouth hanging open and eyes impossibly wide in the most exaggerated look of surprise Pete had ever seen in real life. If it was possible, Patrick was blushing harder than Pete, his face a ludicrous shade of red. His hair was damp and curling lightly at the ends. Pete swallowed, wishing that he was dead.

"Pete-" Patrick croaked, shaking his head lightly.

"Patrick, I- I'm so sorry I just-" Pete began, cutting Patrick off. He couldn't look at Patrick.

"I shouldn't have been listening." Patrick apologised softly, looking down. Pete nearly laughed; that was Patrick all over - apologising for his very existence. He flung his head back onto the pillow, unsure of what to do with his hands.

"Don’t. I’m the world’s worst friend.” Pete sighed, rubbing his face roughly, then rolling onto his side to look at Patrick.   
He hadn’t moved at all since Pete had pulled back the curtain, just standing there in awe. He looked so adorable; good enough to eat, even. Pete didn't  _mean_ to look at his crotch, honestly, he didn’t. He hadn't  _meant_ to do any of this. But his eyes had been dragged down for a split second and been glued in place by the obvious bulge in Patrick’s jeans.  _Oh._ Pete had no idea what the protocol for this situation was. He looked dumbly back up at Patrick, who shrugged guiltily.

Very slowly, and without breaking eye contact, Pete peeled the curtain back all the way, holding a hand out to Patrick in invitation. He took the hand, climbing up into the bunk and lying down next to Pete, who was now pushed against the wall so that they could both fit. It was tight – Patrick was on his back, and Pete was propped up on one elbow, hovering over Patrick, who couldn't seem to take his eyes off of Pete’s dick. He was hard again. Pete blushed, tilted Patrick’s face up with one hand and kissed him softly. The tension seemed to ease out of him as he kissed back.

It escalated quickly – Patrick pushing forward into the kiss and Pete slipping his tongue in to taste Patrick’s mouth. Their breath was coming out in short puffs and Patrick had one hand tangled in the back of Pete’s hair. His other hand trailed lightly down Pete’s stomach, bumping gently into his dick, tightening Pete's chest and causing his breath to catch in his throat. He felt Patrick pull away from the kiss, and opened his eyes to look at him. He was watching Pete with a reserved wonder, mouth open, wet, and pink; his eyes were glazed over and his eyelids hung heavily, as though he were half asleep.

“Can I-?” Patrick croaked, hand running all the way up Pete’s length and making him shiver; a soft, shuddering moan escaping his parted lips. Patrick must have taken that to be a yes, because Pete was being pushed onto his back, and Patrick was shuffling backwards down the mattress to kneel between his knees in the tiny bunk. Pete was going to die; Patrick was looking up at him with an unreadable expression. He leant forward, one hand on the base of Pete's dick, and flattened his tongue on it's head. Pete gritted his teeth and tried desperately to keep his hips on the bed, making an embarrassingly high-pitched noise in the process. This appeared to please Patrick, who smiled and took Pete's cock into his mouth until it bumped against the back of his throat. He pulled up, his tongue swirling around the head once before he began bobbing rhythmically. It was hot and wet and tight and so fucking  _good_ that Pete couldn't think straight.

"Fuck, Patrick-" Pete whined. His eyes were squeezed shut and his hands were fisted in the sheets by his sides. Every fibre in his body wanted to grab Patrick’s hair, fuck his mouth; God, if only he weren't a vocalist. Patrick was fucking  _going for it_ , his tongue pressing on the underside of Pete's cock every time he pulled up, then running over the slit before he dipped back down - it felt fucking insane. Pete couldn't think - he was straight up panting, mouth open, his breath coming out in loud, high pitched _ah ah ah's_. With a lot of effort, he lifted his head to look down at Patrick. He was staring at Pete, eyes dark. His hand was pushed down the front of his jeans, which had been hastily unbuttoned, and he was thrusting lazily against it in time with his head movements. Pete didn't have time to warn Patrick before he was gasping and coming hard. His hands were flying to Patrick's hair before he could hold himself back, his hips bucking up violently as he moaned Patrick's name, stars exploding behind his eyeballs.

When his vision cleared, Patrick was wiping the corner of his mouth and smiling widely. He had removed the hand from his jeans, and didn't seem to be holding any grudges about Pete practically forcing himself down his throat. 

"Patrick, shit." Pete groaned, running a hand through his hair and blinking as Patrick crawled up the bunk to squeeze into the limited space. With a bit of shuffling, they were both able to lie down comfortably on their sides, facing each other. Pete, still in a post-orgasm daze, snaked an arm around Patrick's waist, pulling him as close as he could and kissing him deeply. Patrick sighed and scraped his teeth along Pete's bottom lip, his hips pressing forward so that Pete could feel the hard outline of his cock on his thigh. He nuzzled into Pete's chest, breath hot and heavy. His hips rocked forward and Pete pushed his thigh gently up between his legs to provide him with some friction. Pete wished he could return the favour with his mouth, but Patrick wasn't complaining;he was moaning softly, making rough, frantic movements as he attempted to get off against Pete, hands pressed against the thorns along his collarbones. His mouth was open against Pete's neck, high-pitched, needy noises escaping as he clawed desperately at him.

"Come on Patrick." Pete cooed softly into the still damp strawberry blond hair. Patrick moaned quietly, his hips bucking erratically, as Pete drew circles on his back and whispered encouragement into the top of his head.

"Pete-" He gasped, before biting down hard into Pete's shoulder and coming in his pants for the first time since he was a teenager. He shook; his hips slowly rocked forward twice as he whined in the back of his throat, then he went still, breathing hard into Pete's neck.

They stayed like that for a few minutes, in the cloying heat of the bunk, clinging to each other and their highs. As they came down Pete kissed the top of Patrick's head, wondering what he was meant to say at this point. 

"Uh, so..." He smiled hesitantly, "I should probably-" 

"Yeah, yeah- sorry." Patrick muttered, shuffling back and rolling out on the bunk, landing heavily on his feet. He buttoned his jeans and ran his fingers through his hair in an attempt to tame it.  "Hey, so- um. Was this a one time thing- or-?" He stuttered, looking down. Pete didn't know how to reply, was it too forward to say no? Was that a dick move? He figured he'd gamble if meant he might get to do this again.

"No." He stated, though it came out as more of a question. "I mean- if you want to. Again. Anytime- it's up to you. Whatever, you know." He rambled, hoping that Patrick would put him out of his misery. He did; finally looking up and smiling. They held each others gaze for a while, and Pete's heart did a little somersault. Then Patrick looked down again, laughing quietly.

"Go take a shower." 


End file.
